


Signs

by Grey (grey853)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is troubled by a friend's self-destructive behavior during a case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs

## Signs

by Grey

Author's webpage: <http://grey.ravenshadow.net/>

Summary: Jim is troubled by a friend's behavior during a case. 

Notes: Thanks for Jenn aka XFreak for her constant support. This story was first published by Mysti Frank in COME TO YOUR SENSES 16. It was written after reading a report that more law enforcement officers die each year from self-inflicted injury than on the job violence. It made me ask why. What is it about that profession that makes it one of the most dangerous for suicide? I think Jim has the answer. 

Warning: M/M, Jimangst, h/c. 

* * *

Signs  
by Grey 

Cold air breezed over his skin as Jim Ellison pulled his arm back under the covers, his whole body doing a quick shiver. A series of barky coughs nagged for attention as he struggled to roll back over and finish sleeping. His whole body ached, still tired and resistant to waking. The muttered, "Oh, man," followed by sneezing forced him to open his eyes as he focused his senses to the sounds below. His thoughts cleared, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his robe, and trotted downstairs to check on both the thermostat and his partner. 

"Chief?" 

"It's freezing in here, man. What's going on?" The hoarse voice didn't sound like Blair's, the words raspy and strained. 

"The furnace isn't kicking on. I'm checking it now." 

He glanced through the doorway and watched as his friend huddled back under the blanket, his breathing wet and wheezing. "Jesus, you sound terrible." 

"Tell me about it." 

"You were fine last night. What happened?" 

"Slept in an icebox. Can you fix it?" 

"Don't know yet. I'm still looking." The thermostat near the door read forty-five degrees instead of the set sixty-five. "Shit." 

"What?" 

"Guess I need to call the building manager to check the furnace. It's not on." 

"No fucking kidding." The bedding now over his head muffled the groan as Blair added, "My head hurts. We got any aspirin?" 

"Sure. I'll get some." Stepping into the bathroom, the icy tile shocked his feet as he retrieved the pills and some water. Entering his friend's room, he stood by the bed. "You need to sit up to take these." 

"In a minute." 

"Now, Chief. It won't get better hiding under the covers." 

The inarticulate grumbles peppered with coughs came with the battle of shifting his legs over the side of the bed while remaining cocooned in the red wool. An unexpected sneeze sprayed the room. "Oh, man, that's nasty. Sorry." A shaky hand grabbed a Kleenex and wiped his face. Bloodshot eyes stared up as Blair took the glass and medicine. "Thanks." 

"Why didn't you wake me?" 

"What for?" Blair swallowed the pills and finished off the water before tugging the blanket even more tightly around his body up to his neck. 

"You're sick." 

"It's just a cold. I need to take a hot shower and fix up some eucalyptus salve and I'll be fine. Of course, a little heat would be a nice touch, too, man. Why don't you go call Barnard and I'll make us some coffee?" 

"I'll make the coffee and call. You should stay in bed and stay warm." 

Shaking his head, Blair stood up, being sure to remain covered up. "Just go check the heat, Jim. I'll be fine." Without waiting for an answer, the younger man headed to the bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the shower. 

Taking a deep breath, Jim sighed and surrendered. By the time Blair came back to the kitchen dressed in jeans, two sweaters, a wool cap and gloves, he had the coffee made and a nice blaze going in the fire place. "Gee, Chief. You look like you're really ready for winter. Got your heavy thermals on under all that, too?" 

Blair lifted the mug to his lips, blew, and sipped casually before he spoke, timing his words to match his partner's drinking. "You know, Jim, we never did do any tests about how much cold it takes to freeze a sentinel's ass. Maybe you should strip naked and give it shot right now, want to?" 

Mid-swallow, Jim choked on his drink, the liquid spewing across the kitchen. A few moments later he caught his breath only to find his friend laughing as Blair stepped over to sit closer to the fire. "You did that on purpose, you little shit." 

"You deserved it." Blair's voice sounded much clearer, the tone stronger. "So what's the deal with the furnace?" 

Wiping off his face and the counter, Jim resisted smiling while he refilled his mug. "Barnard said he needs to order some piece for the main control, but it might not get here until this afternoon. He said it should be fixed by tonight or tomorrow at the latest." 

"Man, that sucks. What about Ms. Davies downstairs? She can't be in the cold all day like that. Did he say if he was going to find some place for her to stay?" 

"Jesus, Chief, it's not even seven o'clock yet. I didn't think to ask." 

"Well, before we go to the station, we have to make sure she's got some place to go. You know the statistics for hypothermia in the elderly. It's not supposed to get above freezing all day." 

"Don't worry. We'll take care of it." Pausing, Jim walked over and sat down on the sofa next to Blair. "How about you? You sound better." 

"I told you, it's just the start of a cold. A little steam, some heat, I'll be as good as new. Don't worry so much." 

"I'm not." 

"Yes, you are. You always do. Sometimes I think you should've been a nurse instead of a cop." 

"Well, hell, forgive me for asking." The hurt tone froze the words, each one stiff and crisp. 

Blair smiled and touched his shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, man. It's nothing you've done. I'm still tired. I'm just bitching to be bitching." He stood up and walked over to the chair closest to the fire and sat down, his legs tucked up under him. 

"I guess we're both pretty tired, Chief. It's been a rough couple of weeks, and waking up with no heat doesn't help." 

"Well, it should be better after today, right? I mean, we're supposed to be picking up Roscoe this afternoon. Once he's in custody, things will be a lot less tense around the bullpen." 

"You mean there's less chance of Slaughter biting someone's head off?" 

"Yeah, something like that." Blair shifted uneasily in his chair, his eyes wandering to the fire as he spoke. "I'm just wondering what's up with him." 

"He's a cop on a tough case. Everybody gets edgy sometimes." 

"Yeah, but with him, it's more than that. I know he's helping out from Vice, and I don't know him that well, but something just doesn't feel right." 

"You're right. You don't know him. I've known Gary since my Vice days. He's always been a son of a bitch under stress. He's a good cop though." 

"Maybe." 

Suddenly irritated, Jim rubbed his whiskers and stood up. "Look, I need to shave and get ready for work. Just forget about Gary. He'll be back in Vice as soon as we pick up Roscoe and you won't have to worry." 

He headed for the hallway as Blair added softly, "Did you know he's drinking on the job?" 

Stopping abruptly, Jim turned, his gut suddenly much tighter. "What?" 

"I saw him drinking in the restroom yesterday." 

"And did you say anything?" 

Shrugging, Blair met Jim's eyes, his concern genuine. "What could I say, man? He didn't seem to care if I saw him or not. He knows he could get suspended, but it's like he could give a shit. I heard Rafe say his wife left him last month, too." 

Jim came back into the room, his head down for a moment, running back over his friend's words, still confused. "So, what exactly are you saying here, Sandburg? You want to turn him in because he's having a rough time?" 

"That's not what I'm saying, Jim. This has nothing to do with turning anybody in. He's in trouble. I think he needs to see somebody." 

Frowning, his face twisted and grim, Jim forced the words out. "You mean a shrink." 

"You say shrink like it's a dirty word or something." 

"To a cop, it is." Grinding his teeth, fighting back his own anger, Jim worked hard to keep his voice neutral. "Look, Gary's been on the force for twenty-one years. He's entitled to some slack. Just don't do something stupid and get his ass hauled in front of some asshole who doesn't know shit about the pressures of the job. He's a cop. He'll work it out on his own like we all do." 

Blair sat up straighter, his face serious, his words chilly. "And if he doesn't, if he does something to hurt himself or someone else, what then?" 

"That's not going to happen." 

"How can you be so sure?" 

All his muscles tensed at once, his shoulders near pain as he held himself back, kept his fists from hitting the wall in frustration. "Listen, Chief, I'm tired and cold and I don't want to listen to anymore bullshit. Just leave it alone." 

Staying very still, Blair nodded slowly, his face pale in the weak light. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to upset you about this. It's just he's your friend and I thought you should know what's been going on." 

"So, you've told me. I'm going to get ready for work now. Why don't you go check on Ms. Davies or try to figure out world peace or something else you're good at." 

"Don't be a shit, Jim." 

"Then don't talk about something you don't know anything about." 

The chill in the room didn't come close to the cold washing over his skin when he watched Blair's face drain and then suddenly flush with hurt and anger. "Oh, so what you're saying is I don't know anything about what it means to be under pressure? What it means to be a cop?" 

"I didn't say that." 

"You didn't have to." Standing up, Blair stomped quickly past him into his room, the slamming door like a cannon. 

Jim closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, wanting to start the day over. Shit. He decided that mornings with Blair sometimes showed no mercy, especially when he fucked up and decided to act like an asshole for no good reason other than reflex or too much practice. 

* * *

"Hey, Gary, can I talk to you a minute?" Jim called out to his friend as he caught up with him in the hallway. 

"What's up, Ellison? I'm on my way down to records. Fucking clerk sent the wrong file." 

Moving along side his friend, he took in the haggard appearance, the stained sleeves, and the strong odor of mint mouthwash that barely covered the smell of old whiskey. Dark circles bruised the wary brown eyes, the once strong face more thin and shadowed than he remembered. "We'll talk on the way then." 

"Sure, Jim. So talk." 

Suddenly nervous, his words hesitated. "I was just wondering how you're doing. I mean, I just heard about Helen, and..." 

"And you think I give a shit that the bitch left me?" 

"I just thought maybe if you needed to talk..." 

Stopping abruptly, Slaughter turned, took Jim's arm and pulled him to the side of the corridor before speaking in a hushed tone, the words biting the air. "Cut the shit, Jim. I know why you're here. I wondered how long it would take that punk partner of yours to go running his mouth about yesterday." 

Jim stiffened, his concern changing to anger. "Sandburg's no punk." 

"He's no fucking cop either. I still don't get what the deal is with you two, but I don't fucking care. Tell that candyass to stay the fuck out of my business." Just inches away, he hissed, "And that goes for you, too. You want to turn me in, go for it. Otherwise just stay the hell away from me. Got that?" 

His back pressed against the wall, Jim struggled not to put a fist through the face too near his own. Instead he kept his voice neutral and answered quietly. "Yeah, Slaughter, I've got that. You're in great shape. Anybody can see that." 

Slaughter stepped back, but the anger hammered the words home. "Fuck off, Ellison. You think you know me? You don't know dick." 

Before he could answer, Slaughter turned and stormed down the hall, the swinging doors banging the wall as he passed through them. 

"Damn, man. What an asshole." Brown walked up to Jim, shaking his head in disgust. 

"He's just having a hard time." 

"Don't make excuses, man. I know he's your friend from Vice, but he's one big fuck up these days. I'm surprised he hasn't been suspended yet." 

Rubbing his jaw, his head pounding, Jim met Brown's eyes. "Suspended for what?" 

"You didn't hear?" 

"What?" 

"He got caught making out with one of his snitches while he was still on the job, some pretty boy who works the streets off Chelsea. Rumor is that's why they shipped him over here for awhile, until they can figure out what to do. I mean, he's got the years. He should take retirement while he still can before he gets his ass capped either by IA or some punk on the street. The man's burned out and walking a mighty fine edge, you know?" 

Swallowing hard, forcing himself to accept the dark picture he wanted to ignore, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm beginning to see that." 

Brown headed off and added, "Forgot to tell you, man. Captain wants to see you about the Roscoe bust. Wants to make sure we've got it buttoned down solid before we go in." 

"Thanks." 

A few more moments later, he turned and went to look for his partner, the apology all but gift-wrapped with his own version of sack cloth and ashes. 

* * *

"You really don't have to buy me lunch, Jim." Blair settled back in his chair, the hot tea already at the table. 

"I want to. I was way out of line this morning." 

"Yeah, you were, but you don't have to buy me off to apologize." 

Clearing his throat, bringing his hands together in front of him, Jim's voice softened. "I'm not trying to buy you off, Chief. We didn't get breakfast and that was my fault for being such an asshole." 

Blair shrugged, a tiny smile curling his lips. "Since you put it that way, sure, why not?" He picked up the menu and scanned down the list. "They got lobster? I might want two." 

Looking shocked, Jim reached for his wallet, but relaxed when he saw his partner laugh. "Very funny, Sandburg." 

"You're just so damn easy, man." He put the menu down and leaned forward, his scratchy voice more serious. "So, I take it you talked to Slaughter." 

Jim nodded and waved to the waitress. She stepped over and he asked, "What do you want, Chief?" 

"I'll have the broiled salmon with baked potato and salad, ranch dressing on the side. I'm fine with the tea." 

"I'll have the same." 

As soon as she left, he sipped some water, played with his napkin, and finally spoke. "You may have a point about Slaughter. He's obviously got some serious problems." 

"I'm sorry." 

Jim glanced up, his partner's face somber. "Why? You were just trying to tell me something I didn't want to hear. It's not your fault." 

"No, but I don't like being right about it. The thing is, now what?" 

"I don't know, Blair. He's a cop." The words sounded lost, a force without power, but too much dark meaning. 

The younger man coughed several times, pulled out a Kleenex, and blew his nose. He took a long drink of water and waited until after the waitress served the salad before he spoke. "I'm having a hard time here, Jim." 

"I hear that." 

"I'm not talking about the cold, man. I'm talking about understanding why it is that practically every cop I've ever met has this damn attitude that they'd rather walk in front of gun fire without kevlar than see a doctor about being depressed. What's up with that?" 

Jim took a deep breath, his whole body tense as he shoved the tomato around his salad, his mind running in circles trying to find the words he couldn't master. "What do you want me to say, Chief?" 

"I just don't get it. Why's there such a stigma about asking for help?" 

Putting the fork down, Jim drank some tea and then looked away as he spoke, his eyes staring out at the new snowfall. "I don't have all the answers." 

"I know that, but give me something to work with here." 

"I guess it starts with we're supposed to be the protectors. We're supposed to be able to take down the bad guys, kick ass, and basically make sure the world is safe as it can be." 

"You make it sound like you've got the cape all ready to go, man." 

Jim turned, his solemn blue eyes aimed at his partner. "I'm serious here." 

"Sorry." 

"I'm just saying that when you've got that role, admitting you're the one who needs help sometimes isn't easy." 

Blair's face softened as he pushed his unfinished food aside and leaned forward. "You sound like you're speaking from experience." 

"Maybe." The word hung between them, dangerous and too inviting. 

"Tell me about it, Jim." 

When he finally spoke, the words came out slowly, conjuring up images pushed back over the years to the back corners of his thoughts, images sharp and cutting. "After Jack disappeared, I felt kind of abandoned, kind of rough for awhile. Then I thought if I married Carolyn that would help me find something missing in my life." 

"And it didn't?" 

"Not hardly. We seemed to work harder to piss each other off than we did to be happy. After the divorce, I don't know, I felt like a failure. And the job didn't help. I mean, Jesus, sometimes there was never any let up, one murdered body after another, murdered babies and victims everywhere nonstop. It's like you never saw any of the good anymore and never made any progress. I have to admit there were times when having someone to talk to might have helped make the people I worked with have less of a pain in the ass to handle." 

"So, why didn't you go see somebody?" His friend's cold-husky voice still filled his ears with comfort, with long strokes of caring. 

Rubbing his mouth several times, Jim turned sideways in his chair, his body too tight, his stomach queasy. "That's what I'm trying to explain. I don't know. It was like an unspoken code. Still is. If you're a cop, you police your own feelings. You don't go whining to some shrink about all the pressures." 

"And if you do?" 

"Then your job isn't worth shit." 

"You really believe that?" 

Meeting the concerned eyes, Jim nodded. "Yeah, Chief, I do. I've seen it too many times not to." 

The waitress quietly approached the table, gave them their orders, and left. Blair stabbed at his potato and looked up again. "Man, I'm suddenly not very hungry." 

"Me, neither." 

After a few moments, Blair asked, "So, what are you going to do about Gary?" 

"I don't know. I just want to finish this bust today and forget about it." 

"But you can't do that." 

"I know, but there's too much going on right now. He's not going to listen to me anyway, not after this morning. I figure maybe after things settle down, maybe tomorrow or the next day, I can talk to him and see if he'll listen." 

Blair sneezed several times before he managed to speak. "I hope that's enough, Jim." 

"Yeah, me, too. If it's not, well, then I guess I'll give you another lesson on what cop's don't do." 

"What's that?" 

"Turn in their fellow cops for evaluation." 

"God, Jim, I hope you don't have to do that." 

"For now, let's just try to eat and get through the rest of the day with no casualties." 

Jim watched his friend tackle the edge of his salmon, quietly grateful to be near someone who listened so easily, someone who didn't bother to worry as much about codes of silence as he did the value of friendship. Not for the first time, he recognized his own blessing since Blair came into his life. He stood up and excused himself, fearfully aware that falling in love with his partner broke the number one cop rule ever. 

* * *

"So, Jim, you think they'll give him a medal or suspend him?" 

"Hell if I know." Jim turned the corner and stopped at the light, his jaw clenching and his stomach still knotted. 

"Well, with all the press around, they're going to have a hard time hauling his ass in for disobeying orders." 

"And for putting himself in the line of fire without a vest and without backup. Stupid bastard. What the hell was he thinking anyway?" 

Blair shifted in his seat as he faced Jim while they waited in traffic. "Slaughter didn't seem to care if he got shot, but he did save those three kids Roscoe had stashed away in the back. If he'd followed the original plan, they could've been killed." 

Angry, his chest too tight and his words larger than usual, Jim worked to keep his voice calm. "Don't you think I know that? The whole damn department knows it. But it still doesn't change the fact that he ran in there like some kind of fucking action hero breaking every order in the book." 

"Yeah, I know. It does sort of make a guy wonder." 

He caught his friend's thoughtful expression just as the light changed and he drove on. "Wonder what?" 

"If he has some sort of death wish." 

The words stung, the meaning too biting to be shrugged off, too scary to really accept completely. "I don't want to believe that, Chief." 

"Of course you don't. He's your friend." 

"So what are you saying, that because he's my friend I don't want to see the possibility that he might want to hurt himself?" 

"It's possible." 

"That's bullshit. I know he's got some problems, but what happened today might turn out to be a good thing in the long run, that is if I don't shoot him myself for being such a dumbfuck." 

Blair shook his head, confused. "I don't get it." 

"Gary's had IA on his back for something that happened in Vice. Now, granted he broke the rules today, but bottom line, he still saved those kids. Maybe this is the break he needs to boost his ego, to let him see he can still make a difference, and it might get IA off is back since they'll have a hard time touching him with the press sniffing around for a hero." 

"That's a pretty long stretch, Jim." 

Taking a deep breath, Jim pulled into the snow-covered parking spot and turned off the engine. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm in the mood for a stretch. I'm tired of talking about Gary Slaughter. I just want to go upstairs, have a hot shower, and relax over supper, maybe watch a game or something." 

"I could get down with that. Are you sure the heat's on?" 

"Barnard said it would be." 

"If it's not, do me a favor." 

"What?" 

"Let's get a room somewhere or bunk in with Simon. I don't think I could handle another night in the freezer." He sneezed a few times to punctuate his point as he climbed down out of the truck. 

"You mean you'd rather bunk with Simon than me? I mean, two in my arctic weather sleeping bag could be kind of cozy." 

The words came out light and airy, but Blair stopped walking and turned and met his eyes before he answered. "It's no fair teasing a guy with a cold, man." 

"Who's teasing?" 

Blair swallowed several times and then smiled as he suddenly looked away, uneasy and nervous. "If I weren't too full of snot to breathe, I might take you up on that offer, man, but for now, why don't we go see if the pipes froze?" 

As he watched his partner head into the building, Jim retraced the last few moments in his mind, saw once again the flicker of interest quickly transforming to fear in those dark blue eyes. He recognized the look for what it was, the look that begged for a signal, some sign that he might not be kidding. Before he could think any harder, he heard his friend's cough and raced inside to take care of the man he loved, the man who focused his life and made him give a damn about keeping it. 

* * *

"This is pretty good, Jim. Did you make it?" 

"I can cook, Sandburg." Shoving back from the table, Jim stood up and took his dishes to the sink before starting to run the water. 

"I know, but did you make this all by yourself? It tastes like Rhonda's Hungarian goulash she brought to the last pot luck dinner at Brown's." 

"Of course I made it all by myself." His voice eased back from the defensiveness as he added, "Of course, I also used Rhonda's grandmother's recipe. Even bought those damn special cheeses that go in it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find imported Hungarian goat cheese in the middle of winter, Chief?" 

"I can imagine." Nodding, his smile bigger, Blair took a finishing bite and then drank down his beer. "I didn't think you liked goulash that much, man." 

"I don't." 

Getting up to fetch another drink, Blair took his plate and stacked it next to Jim's. "Then why go to all the trouble?" 

Jim kept his back to his partner and shrugged, his voice reluctant. "You made such a big deal over it at the party, I just thought I'd try it." 

"Yeah?" 

The heat flushed his neck as he turned to see Blair watching him, his eyes a little watery from his cold, but focused, the awareness dawning. "What?" 

"That's really nice, Jim. I appreciate it." 

"It's no bother." 

"Not even to hunt down elusive Hungarian goat cheese in winter?" 

"I am a skilled detective, Chief. No search is too daunting for the well-trained officer of the law." He played it off and avoided touching the man beside him as he proceeded to do the dishes. Blair just stood there, drinking his beer slowly, leaning back against the counter, observing. 

"Why don't you go sit down. I'll be finished here in a minute. Want some coffee?" 

Lifting the beer, Blair shook his head. "Don't want to spoil the buzz, but sitting down doesn't sound like a bad plan. To be honest, I'm a little dizzy." 

"Dizzy? Since when?" Jim hurriedly dried off his hands and touched his friend's forehead. "You've got a fever. Give me the beer and let me get you some juice. You don't need any alcohol. Just plenty of fluids." 

Blair snorted and grinned as he protected his drink from Jim's reach. "Nurse Ellison strikes again, man. Give it a rest, Jim. I'll finish this and then go to bed. I'm just tired that's all." 

Still concerned, Jim persisted. "You could be coming down with that flu. Davis started with a cold, but then it just got worse. I told you to take that flu shot." 

"Those don't always work, you know." 

"Who took the shot and who's got the flu, Chief?" 

Blair stepped away from Jim and walked to the sofa, his hand out to steady himself before he sat down. "It's just a cold." 

"At least let me run you a hot bath and you can go to bed early." 

The frown turned to a small smile as Blair let his head fall back. "A hot bath? You know I don't take baths." 

"I know. But when we got sick, Sally used to run us hot baths and they always seemed to make the muscles ache less." 

"Yeah, sometimes." His voice almost dreamy, the fatigue slowing the words, Blair added, "Jim, I like that you care enough to worry, but I'm really okay. Just finish the dishes and come sit down. It's been a hard day. Let's just enjoy the evening together, okay?" 

"On one condition." 

"What?" 

"Put the beer down and stretch out while I finish." 

"Deal." 

Placing the drink on the table, Blair lay back on the sofa, his head resting on a pillow, his eyes already closed as he covered himself with the red afghan. Jim stepped over, lit the fireplace and a few candles before he picked up the beer, and headed back to the kitchen. In the background, he put on a CD of whale songs recorded with dulcimer that Blair enjoyed for meditation, one that didn't bother him like the frantic rhythms his partner sometimes used. 

He actually relaxed as he cleaned the kitchen and turned off the overhead light just as the phone rang. Trying not to wake Blair, he answered more softly than usual. "Ellison." 

"Jim?" 

He recognized the strained and familiar voice immediately. "Gary?" 

"Yeah, listen, Jim, I just wanted to call and apologize for earlier." 

Still angry, he worked to keep his voice calmer than his heart. "Which earlier? When you told me to fuck off or when you tried to get your ass killed?" 

"Either one. Look, I've just been having a rough time lately. I feel better now though and I just needed to call and tell you I appreciate you at least trying to help out." 

Jim crossed his arms as he listened, noting the slight slurring of the words. "You been drinking?" 

"A little. Not much. Seriously, I'm okay now. You don't have to worry. I know how you are, always trying to fucking save everybody." 

Nodding, relieved, Jim asked more calmly, "You know you scared the shit out of me today." 

"I know. Listen, Jim, you remember that picture we took when we all went fishing that summer before you left Vice?" 

"You mean the one with you laughing your ass off after Marino did a header into the river?" 

"Yeah, that's the one. I just thought I'd give it to you, you know, as sort of a token." 

"A token for what?" 

"Working together these last few weeks reminded me of the good times. I know I acted like an ass most of the time, but I really needed to remember that it wasn't always like this." 

"You're right. It wasn't. So, are you going to be all right now?" 

"I'm going to fine. And, Jim, I'm really happy for you." 

Puzzled, Jim couldn't figure out the reference. "Happy? About what?" 

"About you and Sandburg. I never suspected, but he's obviously good for you and I'm glad it's worked out." Before he could argue, Slaughter, continued, "Just wanted to say that. We should all be so lucky. Take care, Jim." 

"Gary, listen. Maybe I should come over. You sound a little wasted." 

"Years wasted, but it doesn't matter. I'm quitting." 

"Quitting?" 

"Yeah. So don't worry. Making the decision wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Probably should've gotten out awhile back. Just didn't have the balls." 

"You're sure you're okay?" 

"Just take care of your partner. Good bye, Jim. You're a good cop and a good friend, and I respect that." 

The click cut off the line, the buzzing starting soon after. Blair groaned behind him as he turned over on his side, coughed, and pulled his knees up. "Oh, man. I don't feel so good." 

Putting the receiver down, Jim went to his partner's side, the flush of fever worse than before. "What's wrong? Your chest hurt?" 

"Stomach." 

Helping him sit up, the heat burned his arms as the younger man leaned against him. "You need help to the bathroom?" 

"Yeah, I think so. The room's spinning and I think the goulash isn't going to be nearly as good the second time." 

"Oh, shit, Chief. Come on." 

Gulping for air, Blair latched onto Jim's arm as he raised him to his feet and practically carried him down the hallway, his body heavy and his legs awkward. Blair barely made it to the toilet before the dinner heaved itself up and the merciless retching began. By the time Blair finished, Jim swore he'd never hunt Hungarian goat cheese ever again. 

* * *

By daybreak the light across the sleeping face still caught the fine traces of fever. Small groans came as Blair shivered and rolled restlessly first to one side and then the other, his sweat darkening the pillow. His breathing labored through his clogged lungs as he finally opened his eyes and looked over at Jim sitting by his bedside. "Hey." 

"Hey, Chief. How you feeling?" 

"You don't want to know." Each weak word wavered, the strength barely there to push it. Jim stood and rearranged the pillows, helping the younger man sit up without falling over. "Man, I feel rough." 

"You look rough." 

His cloudy eyes focused on Jim, his weak smile easing some of the tension in his face. "You don't look so good yourself. You stay down here all night?" 

"Saved me the trip back and forth." He sat back down in the chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Seriously, do you think you should see a doctor?" 

Blair pulled the cover up around his neck as he turned over to lie on his side while he talked, his voice strained and nearly gone. "You're probably right about the flu, but, it could just be a virus of some kind. Either way, we both know the deal. Tough it out with decongestants, aspirins, and drink plenty of fluids." 

"And no more goulash." 

Closing his eyes, Blair's face scrunched at the memory. "Don't even say that word, please." 

"Still nauseous?" 

"Yeah, but not as bad." 

Jim gently traced his fingers across his friend's damp forehead, his touch gauging the reduced fever. As he started to pull back, Blair's hand captured his. "Wait." 

"What?" The heated skin tingled flesh and surged hope up his forearm. 

"I wanted to thank you." 

"For what?" 

"For being such a good friend." Blair laced his fingers through Jim's and spoke quietly. "I don't know, Jim. Maybe it's the fever, but things just seem different between us lately." 

"Different how?" 

"Closer." 

Jim squeezed Blair's hand and placed his other hand over the two linked together already. "We've always been close." 

"Yeah, but yesterday, you shared things, really private things, and I appreciate it's not easy for you to do that. Then you made me dinner, sat with me all night. And it's not just yesterday, it's every day lately. I don't know how to explain it, but it just feels different somehow." 

Clearing his throat, his body tense and ready, he whispered, "And would it bother you if it were different?" 

"Depends." 

"On?" 

"What that means." His eyes met Jim's, the blue not as clear as usual, but still alert. "I think I know what it means. I think I've known for awhile now, but I need to hear it." 

"What do you need to hear, Chief? That I love you?" 

His breath caught, his lungs wheezing and sluggish but not stopped completely. "Do you?" 

"Yeah. Crazy, huh?" 

The pressure of Blair's hold grew tighter, the grip unyielding. "Then we're both going to need shrinks because I feel the same way." 

Suddenly smiling, Jim shook his head. "Maybe we can get a group rate on the sessions." 

"Maybe." Blair looked away as he closed his eyes and relaxed against the pillow. 

"You okay?" 

"Not really. I feel like shit or I'd kiss you." 

"And I'd let you, but there's plenty of time for that when you're better." 

"I know." He took several deep breaths before he continued, the air ragged and shaky. "I'm worried though." 

"Worried?" 

Coughing a few more times, Blair pulled his knees up under the blanket, his voice nearly gone. "What's going to happen when people find out? I may not know all the cop rules, Jim, but I'm pretty damn sure dating another man will pretty much be on the negative list. I'm worried about you. That's why I waited so long to say anything." 

His face serious, Jim came out of the chair and kneeled by the bed. He used his free hand to caress Blair's cheek, the whiskers rough and bristly, the skin so much warmer than his own. Speaking quietly, his voice steady and sure, he whispered, "I love you, Blair. I know it's not going to be easy. Believe me, I know that. But I don't care about what might happen at work anymore. I need you and I won't give you up. Not ever." 

Blair rubbed his face against Jim's touch, his eyes closed, his body calming as he snuggled closer to the older man. "I love you, too, Jim. I'll show you later if you want." The voice drifted, each word more dreamy than the last as he eased into sleeping. 

Smiling, Jim kissed his best friend's forehead as he spoke in a hush. "You already have, Chief." 

* * *

Jim picked up the phone and dialed his captain's number, his eyes watching light snow making its last ditch effort to cover the night's dusting of white powder trailed along the railing. The world danced with color, bright crystal prisms catching the sun's morning rays, spinning a peaceful grace right outside his window. 

"Banks here." 

"Simon, it's Jim. I need to take a personal day. Blair's got the flu and I don't want to leave him alone right now if I can help it." 

"I'm sorry to hear that." The captain sighed deeply, the hesitation adding a husky gruffness to the words. "Look, I was just going to call you." 

The long pause sent chills along Jim's spine, his cop sense checking in with alarm. "What's going on, Simon?" 

"I need you to come to Slaughter's apartment over on Mercy. It's the Royal Arms, number 12. We've got a problem." 

Sitting down on the back of the couch, Jim rubbed his forehead and squinted his eyes. "Shit. Tell me it's not what I'm thinking. Is he all right?" 

"Not in this life, no." 

"Jesus." 

"Yeah, I know. We got the report of the gun shot around five. Officers on the scene didn't get the ID right away because the shield wasn't on the body, so I didn't know until about half an hour ago. I've called his captain in Vice, and you're the officer on call. I could pass it on to Brown or Taggart, because I know he was your friend. I'm really not sure you want to see this." 

Barely restraining his anger, Jim stood up and took a deep breath, his experience pushing back the sore emotion, sealing it away until later. "I'll be there as soon as I can, sir." 

"What about Sandburg?" 

"He'll be all right for a few hours. I'll put the cell phone by the bed if he needs it." 

"It may take longer than that, Jim. The press is going to be all over this after yesterday." 

"With all due respect, sir, fuck the press. Let the brass deal with those assholes. One more cop eats his gun. What's the big news there? Besides, I know my job. I can close the case in half a day, fucking paperwork signed and delivered." The words bit the air, the barely controlled rage whipping each syllable. 

"Jim? Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, sir. I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up the phone, used both hands to rub his face, the pressure behind his eyes building to a steady throb. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

The chant in his head kept pace with the pounding, his fist balled to slam against the padded back of the sofa. Stupid bastard. Sorry ass son of a bitch. How could he fucking do that? 

Slowing his breathing took more time than he wanted to spend, but he did it by digging down inside himself, reviving the words of his guide in other times of crisis. He searched for the control, the calm to get through seeing his friend with no face, his life taken by his own shaking hand. He shuddered at the dark vision of despair that chilled him, the image of his friend holding the gun, looking at some deadly shade of grief that haunted him enough to put oily death in his mouth and squeeze the goddamn trigger. No second chances. Damn him. 

Swallowing back the rising bile, the air too thin, he steadied himself before standing and walking in to see Blair, the man who anchored his life when the world went crazy all around him. 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he carefully ran his hand along the exposed arm, the fever a little less than before, but still there. "Blair?" 

It took several tries to wake him, the sluggish awareness tripping up the younger man's tongue. "Jim? What's going on?" 

"I have to go out for a while. I'm going to put the cell phone by the bed. Ms. Davies has a spare key, so if you need help right away, she can be here in no time." He choked back the swollen pain as he added, "Just rest and get well for me, okay, Chief?" 

Barking a few times, Blair settled back under the covers and slowly gazed up at Jim, his young face shadowed by unshaved whiskers and dark circles down to his cheekbones. Laryngitis made the words strain and break in the air. "What's wrong, Jim?" 

"I just have to go out on a case." He didn't meet his friend's eyes while he spoke, containing himself, the rawness of the moment too biting, too savage. 

"Don't lie to me, Jim." Blair reached out and stroked the back of his hand, the fingers like brands searing his flesh, the demand for trust overwhelming. "Tell me what happened." 

"Gary Slaughter killed himself this morning." 

The long silence finally brought his eyes up to meet his partner's, the deep blue stare sad enough to drown in. "I'm really sorry, Jim. Losing a friend is never easy." 

"No, Chief. It never is." 

* * *

Another winter's night stretched out before him, the cold wind like swift daggers just grazing his skin. The beer in his belly didn't faze the ache, didn't numb one bit of the confusion. 

"Jim?" 

Turning, he saw Blair standing there still wrapped in his blanket, his eyes wide in concern. He stepped back inside, closing the window and pulling the shades. 

"Hey, Chief. Feeling any better?" He walked on past his partner to the kitchen, tossed the bottle, and then grabbed another from the refrigerator. 

"Yeah, some. What time is it?" His voice sounded almost normal, the uneven scratchiness nearly gone. 

"After eleven." 

Moving closer, he leaned forward on the counter, one hand bracing his body, the other still holding the cover close around his chest. "Eleven? How long have you been home? Why didn't you wake me?" 

"Awhile and you needed the rest. Your color's better. Feel up to some soup or tea?" 

"Tea sounds good." Carefully he moved to sit at the table, his movements slow and shaky, still not quite right. Once there, he rested his face on his upraised hands a few moments before he asked, "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah. I just don't want to talk about it." 

"I understand." 

Suddenly angry, he slammed the pan of water into the sink. "Do you?" 

Jarred to alertness the younger man looked directly at him, his face calm, but serious. "Yeah, man, I do." 

The quiet, strong tone stopped him, short-circuited the frustration directed at the wrong person. "I'm sorry. I know you do. I didn't mean to take it out on you." He pinched the bridge of his nose and then returned to putting the water on the stove to boil. 

"Jim, just come sit down for a minute. Please." 

"I can't talk about this, Chief. Don't ask me." 

"I won't. Just sit down." 

Reluctantly, he settled into the seat next to his friend and shook his bowed head. "It's just been a shitty day, Chief. I hate this." 

Reaching over, Blair took Jim's hand while he spoke, his voice soft and steady. "I know you can't talk about it, but could you listen?" 

Bringing his head up, he met his friend's eyes. "Depends." 

"Jim, I know what you're feeling because I've been there." 

Suddenly more focused, Jim studied the sad expression, his nerves edgy, not sure, but needing to understand. He squeezed Blair's hand and whispered, "Tell me." 

After several deep breaths, Blair's voice settled into a steady pattern, the stress tightening the words. "In high school there was this boy named Nathan. I mean, man, he was a great guy. Smart, handsome, star player on the basketball team. The girls loved him and he had scholarships lined up around the block. The best part is that he was a really nice guy." He stopped for a moment and pulled back, removing his hand from Jim's and repositioning the blanket up over his shoulders while he hunched forward near the edge of the table. His eyes stared off as he spoke, gazing at a place not in the loft, a place far removed from the present safety. 

"I liked him, Jim. Remember how I mentioned I was a science nerd?" 

"Yeah, I remember." 

"Well, I was, and believe it or not, I was kind of shy. Tried to play it off sometimes by clowning around, but it never seemed to work. One day, Nathan came up to me after a particularly dismal social display and asked me if I minded helping him out on one of his papers. I mean, here's this straight A student asking me to help him." 

"Weren't you a straight A student, too?" 

"Yeah, but I knew he didn't really need any help, or at least I thought he didn't. Anyway, we talked a lot after that. We'd go to the library, he'd invite me to his house, and I'd stay for dinner. His mom was cool, but his dad was a jerk. Never had a good word to say to or about Nathan when he bothered to be there." 

Jim cringed a little, but stayed quiet, watching his friend conjure up the memories so obviously painful. 

"We did a lot of talking in his room, Jim, and I found out that despite the fact that he was this huge man on campus, he was really lonely, really down on himself, and he'd sneak liquor up to his room and we'd get wasted." 

"You two were drinking?" 

"Oh yeah. I mean, I only got a little sloppy, but, man, Nathan would get drunk big time. That's when it'd get scary." 

"Scary how?" 

"The first few times he talked about it, I didn't take him seriously. I was only fifteen. I thought it was the booze. He was so fucking unhappy. Thought everyone was blind not to see what a loser he really was and how it would be so much easier, so much better, if he just wasn't around anymore." 

"Shit." 

"Yeah, shit. I thought he was talking about running away. I swear it never occurred to me at first what he was really saying." Blair bit his lip and his eyes brightened with the mist of reliving the pain. "At school his grades started dropping. He started arguing with teachers and showing up to class high. The team dropped him after he tried to punch out the coach. Right after that, he started cutting classes. I went to his place and found him in his room. Jim, his face was seriously messed up and he had bruises all over his arms." 

"His dad?" 

Meeting his eyes, he nodded. "I never suspected abuse before that, but yeah. We talked a long time and he cried a lot and then he kissed me." 

"Kissed you? Damn. Are you telling me he came on to you?" 

"I'm saying he loved me. I was shocked. I liked Nathan, but not like that. He was a good friend, but I just didn't think like that about him. I never saw it, but I should have." 

His voice choked as he forced the words to keep straight, to keep from falling off the face of the earth into darkness. "When I told him how I felt, he smiled and said it was okay. He didn't blame me, and that he understood. I mean, here he was so screwed up and he was trying to calm me down. Then he gave me his copy of LEAVES OF GRASS. He said he knew how much I liked it. I didn't know what to say. It was like this really nice special edition, but he was insistent and told me not to worry because he didn't need it. That he was going to be fine." 

"But he wasn't?" 

"I should never have left him. I should've told his mom, or done something. Instead I just went home, Jim. I just went home and the next day, I was sitting in Chemistry class when Mr. Johnson called me down to his office to tell me that Nathan had taken his father's shot gun and blown his head off." 

The impact of the words flashed with the image of Gary, his body draped over the edge of the bathtub, the bits of bone and brain made more vivid in the spray of red against the white ceramic. Words struggled to form, to break free from the tightened throat. "Shit, Chief. I'm sorry." 

"Afterwards all I could think about was that last time together and how he kissed me. I kept thinking maybe if I hadn't rejected him, said I loved him, too, that he might've been safe." 

"You know that's not true." 

"Yeah, now, but then, well, I was kind of fucked up for awhile, you know? First I was pissed. I mean, how could he fucking do that to me and his mother and all the people who cared? But mostly I was just guilty and sad and wanting to do anything to change it." 

"But you couldn't." 

Blair turned, his hand reaching out to caress Jim's check, the warm flesh soothing, a connection to meaning. "Just like you can't change what happened with Gary." 

He flinched at the words, but he didn't pull away, stayed welded to the touch, his head down and his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm sorry. Not yet, okay? I really can't do this." 

"I know." Leaning over, Blair kissed his forehead and whispered, "I'm going to take a shower and then I want you to do me a favor." 

He reached up and held the hand against his face as he met Blair's eyes. "Anything." 

"I'm sorry I was sick today and couldn't be there for you, so let me be with you tonight. Let me just hold you. Please." 

The sting in his eyes blurred his vision, his whole body begging for the promise of comfort. "Let's hold each other, Chief." 

"Equal partners?" 

"Always." 

* * *

"Jesus, Sandburg, sit down before you fall over." 

"I'm not that bad, Simon. I'm feeling better than yesterday." Blair followed orders, finding the seat in the captain's office a good place to settle, his legs still a bit weak. 

"Excuse me for saying so, but you look like shit. Why aren't you home in bed? Flu's nothing to mess with." 

"I'm a lot better, honest." 

"I told him the same thing, sir, but you know Sandburg. Got a head like granite." 

Simon poured his coffee, his face still grim. "Seriously, Blair. Should you be here?" 

"If I start feeling worse, I'll go home. For now, I'm okay. Don't worry. I just needed to be here." He didn't have to say why. All three men knew the reason. 

Jim stood by the outside window, his face turned toward the glass, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Behind him Simon sat at his desk, drank his coffee for a few moments, and finally spoke. "Jim, you're not going to like hearing this, but the brass is sending some counselors over to set up workshops today for the whole department along with Vice." 

"Workshops?" 

"Suicide prevention." 

"Shit." 

"They're also making available extra support teams for grief counseling for anyone who needs to see them individually." 

"And you're telling me this because?" 

"Because I've scheduled you for the first workshop session." 

His face stayed blank, but his eyes narrowed. "I wish you hadn't done that, sir." 

"I'm sure you do. But the sessions are mandated, and I figured it'd be better to get it done as quickly as possible before you had a chance to find some excuse to leave the station." 

"Some reason to leave the station like doing my damn job maybe?" The neutral tone disappeared, and escalated to seriously pissed. "Hell, captain, I don't need this political bullshit. Not now." 

Staying still, Simon disagreed calmly. "You're wrong, Jim. It's not bullshit and you do need it. In fact, if I could, I'd mandate an individual session with the counselors." 

"You can't do that." 

"I could, but I won't." Leaning forward, Simon continued speaking, his concerned eyes never wavering from his detective. "I watched you yesterday while you worked this case, Jim. Efficient and correct to the letter. But, you forget I know you. You were wound tighter than I've ever seen, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. Gary Slaughter was your friend and he killed himself. Not dealing with it isn't going to help. You've got to know that." 

"And how is some workshop going to help? Give me statistics? Show me signs I should've looked for? It's a little fucking late for that, Captain." 

"You're right. Maybe if we'd had one of these sooner, we wouldn't be burying a brother in arms tomorrow, Jim. We wouldn't be telling his ex-wife and daughter to forget about benefits. But, maybe it's not too late for the next officer who might go where your friend ended up. It's not too late to learn how to try to do better than what we've done so far." 

Jim swallowed hard and moved to sit at the table across from Blair, sweat pooling under his armpits and running down his sides. "I forgot about the benefits, Simon." 

"I don't understand. What's the deal about benefits?" 

Blair's voice brought Jim's head up. "When a cop commits suicide, his family doesn't get the pension, Chief." 

"Well, that sucks." 

"Yeah, it does. I guess they think it's supposed to make a person think twice before eating a gun." 

"That's stupid. I mean, when a guy's suicidal, he's not going to be thinking economics for christsakes." 

"I know." Jim used both hands to rub his face, the beads of nervous perspiration and oil slicking his hands. After several long breaths, he sighed and surrendered. "Okay, I'll go to the workshop, but I can't promise to get through it. The funeral tomorrow's going to be bad enough. No honor guard, no special services. It's not right, Simon. The man served the city for twenty-one fucking years. It's not right." 

"I know, Jim. It's not. But there's nothing I can do about it." 

Jim wallowed in that feeling, knew it by heart, and hated the oily realness of it. 

* * *

"Settle down, Jim. Just take deep breaths." 

"Don't patronize me, Sandburg." 

Scooting over in his seat to get closer, Blair whispered, "I'm not. I just don't want you to stroke out or something. That vein in your temple's pumping and your jaw's twitching like crazy. You're scaring me. Just try to relax, okay?" 

Biting back another retort, Jim nodded as he witnessed the deep distress in his partner's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little edgy here. These things always get to me even when I'm not so involved." 

"I know, man. That one they did last month on child abuse kept me awake for days." 

Jim calmed slightly, but still sat up straight, his whole body stiff as they waited for the speaker. Keeping his voice low, he leaned closer. "I wish I could hold your hand, Chief." 

Speaking in a hush, his blue eyes suddenly bright, a shy grin curled his lips. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Last night spoiled me. Having you so close, right up against me like that, it just seriously made me want to keep touching you forever." The faintest scent of arousal tickled his nose and he couldn't keep from smiling. "Damn, Blair. Don't do that when we're stuck here like this." 

"Do what?" 

"Get horny." 

Blair's neck flushed, the increased heat with additional musk flooding his senses again. "God, Jim. Not now." 

"Later then?" 

"You better believe it." 

Before he could say anything else, a man of about thirty walked into the conference room and put a stack of folders down on the table. Dressed casually in jeans and a blue cardigan sweater, he stood facing the group until everyone stopped talking. 

"I'm Dr. Bill Thompson. I'm a psychologist working out of the state capital. I don't believe in being too formal and normally I'd have you all introduce yourself, but since everyone here works together, we'll forget that." 

"As you know, more law enforcement officers in this country die from self-inflicted gun shot wounds than die in the line of duty. That statistic is staggering, but it also tells us we have to do more than what we're doing to change it. We have to know more about what to look for." 

He moved closer to the group, his voice a little deeper, more intimate. "As cops, you know the incredible pressures you have to deal with on a day to day basis. I'm sure you've seen people you work with get depressed, start messing up on the job, maybe start drinking too much, start getting violent at home or on duty. They might even get really nasty and start isolating themselves, maybe acting like they don't care anymore about themselves or anyone else. Taking these things all together, we can get a picture of one of our friends or co-workers in trouble. And that's why we're here today, to try and list all the things to look for, so if we're lucky, we'll never lose another fellow officer to suicide again." 

Pausing for a moment, he rubbed his chin and sat back on the edge of the nearest table. "I'm sure for some of you, this is going to be difficult. When someone we know does the most outrageous thing we can imagine, something so awful that we don't even want to talk about it, it's hard to listen to what we should've seen to help save that person. The thing is, if we want to stop it from happening again, we have to learn how to cope with our own feelings now and how to maybe save the next person. And that's what I'm here for today." 

He took a moment and scanned the room and then lifted his right arm. "So, how many of you knew Gary Slaughter personally?" Everyone in the room raised a hand except Jim. Thompson tilted his head when he looked up and made eye contact. Uneasy, Jim looked away and shifted in his chair, the desire to be anywhere else suddenly overwhelming. 

"Okay, put your hands down. I'm going to give you some literature to look through and then we'll go over some of the main points in a moment." Reaching back, he picked up the folders and handed them to Brown and Rafe. "Would you pass these out, please?" 

He then walked over and stood in front of Jim's chair before he asked quietly, "Aren't you Detective Ellison, the detective in charge of the case?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you saying you didn't know Detective Slaughter?" 

Raising his head slowly, his jaw clenched and defiant, Jim's words came out like ragged bites. "If I'd known the man like I should've, this wouldn't have happened. I had no idea who Gary Slaughter was. The man I knew would never have done this." 

"And you feel guilty?" 

"Why should I?" 

"Because you didn't save your friend." 

Breathing took extra effort as Jim stood up, his chair noisily shoved back. "I'm out of here. You want to talk about this shit, go ahead, but I've got real work to do, _doctor_." 

"Detective Ellison, sit down. Please. I know you're upset, but I think I can help. Besides, these workshops are mandated." Thompson made the mistake of stepping closer and putting his hand on Jim's arm. 

Jerking away, his whole body shook in anger. "Then fucking suspend me." 

Jim ignored the shocked stares and blanked out the red fury swelling up, the fire in his gut blazing. As he headed for the door, he heard the hushed, "Oh, shit," as Blair got up quickly to follow. He just kept walking down the hall, his face stony, his heart pounding. By the time he got to the garage, he couldn't find his keys, his hand fumbling deep in his pockets. 

The hand startled him as it gripped his forearm. "Jim, I'll drive." 

"I'm okay. I'll drive." 

"You're not okay. Now give me the damn keys." The tone demanded no challenge, so he sighed and gave up, too tired to fight. He let Blair guide him to the passenger side of the truck and followed the crisp order to buckle up. Quietly distant, he watched as his partner climbed in beside him and started up the engine. 

His rage disintegrated as fast as it devoured him. He sagged against the door, his very bones heavy. Forcing his tongue to juggle the weary words, he whispered, "I guess I lost it. I'm sorry, Chief." 

The voice he treasured never hesitated, never faltered. "Don't be. I'd rather have you pissed and a little bit crazy than closed down like you were. Now we can deal with what we have to." 

Exhaustion battled his tongue, his lips rebelling against movement. "I'm so tired." 

"Close your eyes then. I'm driving." 

"No car chases or speeding." 

"Not unless Simon's behind us." 

"Then floor the sucker." 

"You bet. I can do speeding. I've had a good teacher." 

* * *

Walking into the loft, Jim turned to hang up his jacket only to realize he didn't have it and didn't much care. He reached into the refrigerator for a beer and asked, "Want one?" 

Blair locked the door, his face pale and worried. "No, thanks. Maybe later." 

Jim noticed the flashing red light on the answering machine as he leaned against the support beam. His ankles crossed, Jim took a long swallow, the cold brew soon adding heat to his belly. "Want to bet that's Simon?" 

"Probably." 

"I don't want to listen to all that now." 

"Okay." Stepping deliberately closer, Blair touched his arm and spoke softly. "Let's sit down and talk for awhile." 

He stiffened slightly, still resistant to revealing the sense of betrayal that hounded his grief. "He lied to me, you know." 

Startled, Blair met his eyes. "When?" 

"The night before he died. You were asleep and he called. The son of a bitch said he was fine and I believed him." The simple words stalled, his anger rearing up again. He put the beer down on the counter and moved to the window, his back to Blair. 

"And you're pissed about that." 

"You bet I am." Jim's right hand fisted, wanting a face to smash, a debt repaid. "I mean why call me up and tell me that? He went into this long spiel about being sorry for being such an asshole and that he wanted me to remember the good old days. Bullshit." 

"Why bullshit?" 

"Because he was setting me up, making me think he was going to be fine, and then he turned around and did what he did. I can't fucking believe he played me like that." 

"Jim?" 

"What?" 

"Tell me why Gary was so important to you. It's not just about now. What happened when you were in Vice?" 

Turning, another surge of anger spawning, he hissed, "What the hell are you asking?" 

"Don't get mad, man." Blair sat down on the couch, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "It's just that I didn't meet the man you knew. Tell me about him. Why was he so special?" 

Jim's eyes burned and misted as he sagged down in the chair facing his friend, his body suddenly rebellious against standing. "Gary helped me, Chief. I mean, Vice was my first duty after Peru. I wasn't exactly working at the top of my game." 

Sitting back, tucking his legs under him, Blair stared at him puzzled. "What exactly does that mean?" 

"It means that sometimes I didn't much care about anything. I was a morose bastard for awhile. Back then Gary and Helen used to insist I come over and spend time at the house. They made sure I ate and had someone to talk to. It's hard to explain, Chief, but it's like they sort of adopted me until I could take care of myself, you know?" 

"I think so. You were still sort of trying to adjust from what happened and he helped by treating you like family." 

"Yeah." 

"Well, hell, Jim, no wonder." 

Bringing his head up, Jim asked, "No wonder what?" 

"You're in Cascade where you grew up and yet you never contacted your own family. Now, you're working with this guy who treats you better than your own father or brother did. It doesn't matter that he somehow lost himself from when you knew him before, because in your mind he's still more family than your blood kin. It's no wonder this kicked your ass but good." 

Swallowing hard, he nodded. "Yeah, maybe. It's just I wish I could've stopped it. I mean, you're a better observer sick than I am well. You saw what was going on and I completely missed it." 

Blair shook his head and ran his hand back through his hair. "You were too close, Jim. It's not your fault." 

"But what good is having sentinel abilities if I can't even see what's in front of me? Gary was in trouble, and I didn't see a damn thing until it was too late." 

"Even sentinel abilities can't see what the heart doesn't want to know." 

Slumping back in the chair, Jim closed his eyes, his head back. "I'm just so damn tired. I can't think about this anymore." 

"Then don't. Go take a shower and then we can rest." 

"Maybe take a nap together?" 

"A nap sounds good." 

Smiling at his friend's hopeful tone, he raised his head and nodded again. "Yeah, it does." Suddenly more serious, his voice softened. "Last night was really special, Blair. I mean that. We only kissed and held each other, but I've never felt closer to anybody than that. An encore of lying in your arms again sounds really nice." 

Meeting his gaze, his blue eyes dark and intense, his words came out breathy and promising. "We've got a lifetime of holding each other to look forward to, Jim." 

"I'm counting on that." 

Standing up, Blair stood by the sofa and motioned toward the hall. "Me, too. Now go shower. I'm going to see how much trouble we're in with Simon." 

Still stiff and weary, he walked into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, Jim let the water heat up while he removed his shoes and socks before stripping off the sweaty shirt and slacks. As he stepped under the steamy water, he cranked up his hearing and listened to his boss's disturbed voice. 

_"Jim, I know you're upset, but I can't let this slide, you know that. I'm marking you down for personal leave through the end of the week. Don't even come into the station until Monday, and then I want you to have a session with Dr. Richards. You'll ride a desk until I've gotten a clearance from her. Got that?"_

_"I'm really sorry about all this, Jim. Try to get some rest. And, Sandburg, do what you can, okay? Call me if you need anything. I guess I'll see you both at the funeral tomorrow."_

The click ended the tape and Jim took a deep breath of relief and reduced his hearing to the comfort zone. It could've been a lot worse, and he silently thanked his friend and captain for not chewing his ass a lot harder when he could have. 

Picking up the soap, he twirled it around, slick bubbles building up over his hands. Suddenly the curtain opened and a naked Blair stepped in beside him, the heavy spray flattening his curls, the water running in streams down his face. 

"Blair?" 

Sliding the curtain back in place, his partner placed his open palms on Jim's chest, gently pushing him back against the cool tiles. Fingers teased the nipples, the touches feathery fire through his chest. 

The full lips captured his mouth, the tongue vital and exploring, the wash of coffee and mint washing down his throat. He probed back, the slick gums contrasting with enamel, the teeth hard against soft tissue. The kiss ended and Jim traced his thumb up and over his friend's whiskered cheek and then along the smooth soft lower lip, an involuntary shudder running though his guide's whole body. 

Dark blue eyes dilated to near black, Blair's breathing panted. "Just relax, Jim. I've always wanted to do this." 

Jim's cock thickened as his groin grew heavy with want, his need nearly choking him in the wet air of the shower. "Relaxing isn't an option here, Chief." 

Smiling wickedly, Blair gathered some suds and wrapped Jim's erection, pumping his hand several times. "I can see that." 

Using a wash cloth, he proceeded to scrub and rinse all over Jim's body with precision, every inch from his chest to his groin. He used one hand to stroke Jim's cock while the other worked to bathe him. Deftly, he turned Jim to face the wall and slowly cleaned his shoulders, back, and legs, his hands both strong and soothing. Saving the crease until last, busy fingers probed the tight pucker, intimately massaging the tender skin, and then reaching through his legs to the front, rolling the balls, and squeezing gently. 

"Oh, shit, Chief." 

Closing his eyes, Jim groaned, the desire growling up in his chest and his moans rumbling louder with each intimate touch. Legs trembled and his belly tightened, coils winding inward to his navel. "Jesus, that feels so good." 

Blair turned Jim back around and pressed his body harder against him, heat increasing to near pain with the urgent rubbing. A husky voice commanded, "Spread your legs again, Jim, only wider this time." 

As ordered, he held onto Blair's shoulders for balance and exposed himself as much as he could, trust increasing the ache and throb through his body. The younger man dropped to his knees, his hot tongue licking down from his belly button to his crotch. Lips kissed the crown and then opened to slide over and around him, the heat liquid velvet over his skin, up his backbone to his brain. A tongue lapped up and then down, licking the tip and then skimming along the bottom vein swollen and pulsing, the pain too much like delicious pleasure. Slipping between his ass cheeks, a slippery finger entered him and then another, thrusting in and out with the same rhythm of Blair's sucking, his lover's head bobbing in time with the hand fucking him to the edge of release. 

Every muscle tensed at once, rebelling against restricting bones and tendons, his back stretching upward. The swell and sudden flash of spasm stunned him, air hiding from overworked lungs. His whole body jerked with coming and then stayed suspended, paralyzed against voluntary motion but trembling and twitching. 

Sturdy arms caught and held on, protected him against falling, and eased him to his knees. His lover's hushed voice whispered, "I love you, Jim. It's going to be okay. I promise." 

The streaming shower camouflaged his tears as Blair caressed his face and petted his hair, kissing away the salty relief of his sworn love and deliverance from the haunting fist of grief. 

* * *

THE END

 


End file.
